Read the Signs
by igivemyselfthecreeps
Summary: Thomas Barrow is a lonely boy. He's good at cricket, but the other boys don't like him. One day, he finds a friend, but can they truly be together, with the obstacles they'll face? A short chronicle of Thomas's adolescence - a prequel of sorts for insight into Thomas's behaviour & choices. Hope you enjoy Thomas and my OC (James Emery). Rated M just in case for the final chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Have you finished cleaning the clocks, boy?"

Mr Barrow was behind his desk, fiddling with a small mechanical piece of a broken clock. He was hunched over, but his face looked as stern as ever. He did not look up at his son.

"Yes, sir", Thomas replied, quivering.

The only working clock in the room ticked noisily as Mr Barrow continued to ignore his son. Thomas counted 84 seconds before the man finally looked up.

"Then you can go play. But I think you're getting to old to go off and play on your own. You should be out playing cricket with the other boys." He returned to his tinkering.

"I played cricket with them yesterday, sir. I'm still a little tired"

In truth, Thomas quite enjoyed playing cricket with the boys. He enjoyed being congratulated, hailed as a hero. The problem was, as soon as the excitement of the game had passed, the other boys no longer talked to him. They ran off to play their own games, which Thomas was never invited to join. He used to spend time after games playing with the girls, but his father had put a stop to that years ago.

 _Though I never saw the problem_.

It was probably because he preferred to sit with the girls in the schoolyard as a younger child that the boys stopped wanting to play with him. He clearly remembered one day, around 4 years ago, when he was caught by the head teacher, Mr Emery, playing with one of the girl's dolls. He had received several lashings for that, both at school and at home.

It meant that Thomas didn't really have any friends. He was not ignored, but no one sat with him while he ate lunch, and no one talked with him of their own accord. He was lonely, but getting fairly used to it.

Eventually, Mr Barrow grunted. "Just don't bring that pansy notebook of yours", he spat.

Thomas ran off the second his father appeared to agree. He did grab his notebook and some pencils from under his bed, but hid them surreptitiously in his jacket pocket as he bolted back past his father's office and out the door.

He ran with all his might, past the boys who shouted after him to join their cricket match, almost slamming into a lady with a perambulator, and vaulting over fences as he escaped the confines of the village.

It was the height of summer, and Thomas's exertion paired with the heat of the middle of the day left him tired and sweaty as he finally made it to the tree on farmer Smith's field. The old man was kind to Thomas, and didn't mind him using the back field to play in.

 _Though every now and then he too asks if I have any friends_.

Of course, at the age of 12, Thomas no longer spent his free afternoons in imaginary play. As a younger child, he had enjoyed his afternoons out at the fields, where he could play however he liked in peace. There were days where he pretended to be a knight galloping into battle, but there were other days where he pretended to be a father raising his children, or a famous artist, travelling the globe.

 _Maybe it's good that I have no friends – I can play however I like_.

The field had one enormous tree that made growing anything under it quite impossible, that was perfect for climbing and sitting in.

Ensuring that his notebook and pencils was secure in his pocket, Thomas began to climb. One foot after the other, he ascended the tree, grabbing the holds that had become so familiar to him in the last few years. Finally, he reached the thick branch half way up, and sat down with a sigh of exhaustion.

 _I'm here_.

Any closer to the village, and he would be pestered by the other boys, or even his father. Out here, up where no one could find him unless they stood right below the tree, he felt at peace. The branch he had chosen had a glorious outlook over the rolling fields, filling his eyes with hundreds of shades of green, and making him smile.

Thomas valued this alone time above all else. His father was a terrifying man, and Thomas hated every second he had to spend in the workshop. His father was not averse to hitting his children, quite hard, for even a minor mistake. Thomas had learned that the hard way, both through his own experience and watching his older siblings suffer brutally. One time, Thomas went to school with bruises all up his arms. The teachers pretended not to see, but Thomas at least got amusement out of telling extravagant stories to his peers about how he got them.

 _Whatever. One day I'll be long gone. I won't be sorry to see the back of him_.

Thomas pulled out his notebook and opened it carefully to his most recent drawing. It was of a young teacher from his school, Mr Kaye. In the drawing, Mr Kaye stood beaming before the class, pointing to a dark haired boy in the front row, while the other children smiled and clapped.

 _A boy can dream, right?_

Drawing was the one way Thomas could fantasise outside of his mind. Art had such an amazing ability to tell stories. Thomas reached into his pocket, pulled out a pencil, and began drawing on the next page. He was trying to draw another picture of Mr Kaye, though this time, just his head. Thomas was not sure that he could adequately draw the delicate fall of the teacher's hair, but he thought he'd try anyway.

 _I have nothing to lose after all, unless Father finds it…_

Thomas was absorbed in his drawing for what felt like hours. His pencil carved subtle lines into the paper, and a drawing of a face started to take shape. After a while, he yawned and took a break, staring up at the sky.

Down below, he heard a sniffle. He practically jumped, and had to grab hold of the branch with his hands to regain his balance. He checked his battered old pocket-watch and realised he'd been sitting there for well over 2 hours.

 _Father will kill me if I'm home too late._

Thomas peered carefully below, conscious that anyone could be down there. After a few seconds of staring, Thomas felt confident enough to start back down the tree. He hid his notebook in his pocket again, and took a deep breath.

The sniffles got louder as Thomas made his way down the trunk and his shoes hit the ground. Thomas heard as someone gasped, a boy by the sound of it.

Thomas gingerly stepped round to the other side of the trunk to find a boy not much older than himself staring wild-eyed up at him. The boy's eyes were red from crying, which only seemed to bring out the blue in them more strongly. He wiped his eyes and stood up, face settling into a weak frown.

"G-go away. I mean it" the boy whispered, holding up loosely clenched fists.

"Why?" Thomas asked, inclining his head with a thoughtful frown. "This is farmer Smith's field. I don't see why you think you can tell me what to do".

The other boy relaxed his arms a little.

"Maybe I can help?" Thomas continued, taking a step closer to the boy.

Finally, the boy lowered his arms and sat down again next to the trunk.

"I'm James. James Emery. What's your name?" he held out a hand to Thomas, who was already taking a seat beside him.

"Thomas Barrow. Nice to meet you James", Thomas replied, shaking the boy's hand.

James nodded acknowledgement. He stared out at the rolling hills, and picked at the grass beside him.

"Emery did you say? Are you Mr Emery's son? The head teacher?"

"Yes." The boy replied sulkily. He didn't look up.

"Thought so." Thomas leant back against the tree, trying to work out how to be tactful. "So…uh…why were you crying then?" Thomas finally asked.

"I wasn't crying!" James protested, looking up at the other boy.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. James frowned again and resumed picking at the grass.

"I don't want to go back to school. Boarding school I mean. Father is forcing me to but…I hate it there. Everyone hates me, because they know I'm being supported by the school, and because they think I'm a sissy." James looked up again. "Did you go to the school here in the village?" he asked, quickly changing the topic.

"Yes. I just left. Maybe we were in the same class. How old are you anyway?"

James seemed to brighten up at this.

 _Maybe it's been a while since someone talked with him properly_.

"I think you're right. I turned 14 a few days ago. You?"

"You're small for your age. I'm 12. 13 in a few months though."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence. James resumed picking at the grass, while Thomas looked around awkwardly. He tried hard not to stare at James – he had a habit of staring at boys at church, which frequently got him a smack on the back of the head from his father. Thomas stared hard in front of him.

"Why aren't you still in school then?" James finally spoke again.

"My father wants me to start working. I'm going to help with the clocks for now, but he wants me to get a job in service I think." Thomas paused, turning to look at James again. "I'd rather be in school though."

"Trust me, you don't. School is awful. Especially for me because…well…I don't get on with most of the other boys. Most of my friends here were girls, but now…I'm sort of…alone."

James was frowning at the grass. His hands shook slightly, and he reached up to wipe his face on his sleeve. As it was, James still had the voice of a boy rather than that of a man, but as he spoke, his voice seemed to get higher and more vulnerable. James was clearly trying to be as nonchalant as possible, but Thomas saw right through it.

"I understand." Thomas whispered back.

"You what? Don't be stupid" James's bright blue eyes flared with anger.

"I do. The other boys only let me play with them because I'm good at cricket, but they barely talk to me. And if I talk to the girls, my father…well he gets angry. I spend a lot of time alone."

Thomas and James exchanged a look of understanding. Both blushed, and looked away within seconds. Thomas was the first to look back. He finally let go of his inhibitions and stared hard at James.

He was a pudgy boy, the kind of pudgy that young boys are before they have a growth spurt. Thomas's older brother looked not unlike that when he was a child. James had soft brown hair that fell lightly on his face, which was starting to see its first few pimples. Despite that, he had a handsome face.

 _I shouldn't think that way. Father said he'd kill me if I thought like that_.

"You know, James. If…" Thomas blushed, and looked at the ground again. "If you're lonely. We can…we can meet sometimes. When you're not at school I mean."

Beside him, James seemed to sit up a little straighter.

"You're nice Thomas." James punched him lightly on the arm. "I would like to meet with you." He stood up as he spoke, and held up a hand to pull Thomas up.

Thomas accepted, and soon the two were standing. James was taller than Thomas, but not by much.

"Tomorrow then. Here, at 2." James smiled as he spoke.

"Okay. Race you back to the village then?" Thomas sped off before James had even reacted, not even trying to contain the grin etched into his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Summer couldn't come quickly enough for Thomas. He had spent a whole year working for his father, but he had finally found a job as a hall boy for some local aristocrats. They were lowly aristocrats, to be sure, but it was a job.

 _And it means I can far away from my father_.

Mr Barrow had begrudgingly offered his son half days over the summer, so that he could play cricket with the local boys in his last month at home. He seemed to think that it was good for Thomas.

"A man's sport that is, boy. A better use of your time than drawing" he had said, roughly patting his son on the back.

It had come a few days after Mr Barrow had found Thomas's notebook. Most 13-year-old boys did not draw, Mr Barrow believed, and they certainly did not draw local men. Thomas had received a severe beating for it, and Thomas had despairingly promised not to draw again.

Thomas himself had thrown his notebook on the fire, watching as the flames licked up his work of the last two years.

 _Maybe I will be able to draw again when I leave_.

The memory changed Thomas's run into a slow jog. He had played a quick game of cricket with the boys to appease his father, but had run off soon after to the tree. James had promised in his letters to be there the day before, but hadn't shown up.

Thomas and James had exchanged a lot of letters over the past year. They were as thick as thieves, even though they never saw each other. James hadn't come home for Christmas or Easter, but had promised to see Thomas over the summer.

Thomas finally arrived at the tree, his breathing only slightly laboured. After a quick search around the tree, he jogged to the stream, splashed his face, and had a drink. When he returned to the tree, James was still not there.

 _Last summer we saw each other almost every day. Why isn't he here now?_

Thomas angrily pulled at the grass beside him. He didn't have a notebook, so he just stared out at the fields and watched the birds fly by. After a few hours by himself, Thomas couldn't take it anymore. He wiped his tears, and went home.

He went back to the tree every day for a week. Every time someone walked past, which was barely once a day, he sat up with a grin, only to lean back into the tree again when he realised that it wasn't James.

 _I miss him. More than I knew I could_.

He was worried too. He had heard around the village that James was back, but no one had seen him.

 _I hope there's nothing wrong. His father can be worse than mine_.

Nine days after they had originally agreed to meet, Thomas was lying next to the tree reading a book. He was barely concentrating, and had a horrible churning feeling in his stomach. He had barely slept for days, and he was exhausted. But he was determined to stay there for a few hours every day. It was the only place he and James could meet alone, if the other boy ever showed up.

When he heard footsteps, Thomas tried hard not to look up.

 _No need to get my hopes up_.

He was trying to read a sentence for the third time when a shadow loomed over him, and James sat down heavily next to him.

Thomas sat up quickly, eyes wide. He dived straight in for a hug, which James returned strongly.

"Where have you been? Are you okay? I've been waiting here every single day, and…" Thomas trailed off as he stared James up and down.

His cheeks and around his eyes were a soft green, and there was an obvious cut on his lip that was healing slowly. His neck was tinged green and even purple in places, while his long trousers and shirt sleeves covered what Thomas was sure would be more bruising. He stared open mouthed at his friend.

"What…are you okay?" Thomas asked, hesitantly reaching out to touch his friend's arm.

James flinched at the touch, and looked away from Thomas.

"Father", James mumbled.

There was silence.

"I thought that might be it," Thomas whispered, conscious of the feeling of a lump in his throat. "Do…do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

James's eyes were glassy, like he was holding back tears. Thomas couldn't blame him.

"Or we could just…" Thomas started again.

"No it's fine Thomas. You're the only one who I can tell anyway. I think. I really missed you." He stared at Thomas, tears starting to spill over onto his cheeks.

Thomas furiously blinked back his own tears – he hated to see his friend upset. After a few seconds, James's tears were falling in earnest, and he let out sobs that sounded like they were a long time coming. Thomas leaned in and put his arm around James, letting the older boy rest his head on Thomas's shoulder. They sat like that for at least 5 minutes. Eventually, James sat up and sniffed back the last few tears. His face hardened.

"Father beat me. Because…" he paused, uncertain.

"Go on then," Thomas replied, with all the confidence he could muster.

James sighed, and started playing with the grass beside him. He sounded like he was desperate to explain, but terrified at the same time.

"I told you in my letters that I still hadn't made any friends at school. Well, one day, one of the boys, Christopher, started sitting with me for meals, and in class. It all happened so quickly…one minute we were complete strangers, the next he was my best friend. After you of course," James added quickly, with almost the hint of a smile.

"Anyway. I didn't have time to write then because I had a lot on. We became close friends within a few days. That Friday night, everyone in my dormitory was going to sleep, but Christopher was sitting with me talking. The light was off, but we talked for a while afterwards. I felt…happy. I don't know."

James paused again, and sniffed.

"You felt like you could talk to him. Like you talk to me?" Thomas asked, probing carefully.

"Exactly. And there were signs…I suppose I read them wrong. But anyway. That night, we talked, and…" he gulped.

"Go on," Thomas asked, almost feeling impatient.

"He kissed me," James whispered.

Thomas felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. His brain started whirring out of control, and he wasn't sure why. He frowned, but something inside him lit up, excited.

 _I don't understand_

"He kissed you?" Thomas finally asked.

"Yes. And…well…" he looked up pleadingly. "You must promise not to tell another living soul. Okay?"

"Of course," replied Thomas, moving anxiously and trying desperately to hold back his curiosity.

"Well…I…I kissed him back."

Thomas was completely taken aback. He had heard, naturally, of men who preferred the company of other men. His father spoke of them with pure loathing.

Mr Barrow told a story to his children, while drunk, of a man of "that sort" who had once approached him. Mr Barrow exclaimed that he had punched and kicked the man repeatedly before going immediately to the police to have him arrested. The man was arrested soon after, but Mr Barrow expressed regret that he had not killed such a man himself.

Thomas looked around them, suddenly afraid that the old farmer or someone could be lurking just around the tree, ready to arrest the two of them just for talking about such things.

James was still sniffling, staring at the ground. Finally, Thomas plucked up the courage to keep talking. "Is that why you got in trouble? One of the other boys saw you?"

James shook his head pitifully.

"After only a second, he had pushed me away, and shouted that I had kissed him. Everyone in the room started laughing, but Christopher was running to the head teacher's office. He…he kissed me just to get me in trouble. It was a dare I think."

James started crying again. Thomas was reluctant to comfort the boy this time, but he eventually put his arm around James again.

"Is that why you weren't back for Christmas?" Thomas asked, trying hard to sound soothing.

"Yes. I had to stay at school. They made me talk with the preacher every day, and I got canings twice a week. Father supported it. But it meant I couldn't come back, to see you. I did well at school after it because I thought father might kill me. And…when I finally came home last week, he seemed to think I needed more punishment."

Rather than crying, James was clenching his fists. Although his eyes were still red from crying, they had a fire in them that was not there before. Thomas felt similarly riled up.

 _Why would anyone do that? Surely it isn't such a bad thing_.

Thomas knew that such behaviour was illegal, courtesy of his father's stories. At church they had once mentioned it too. And yet, deep down, Thomas was not sure he agreed. Very deep down, something squirmed in him, an uncertainty and fear that he could not repress.

"I'm sorry," Thomas finally said. "I don't think they should have done that to you."

James looked up, smiling at Thomas. "It was almost worth it to hear you say that."

Thomas let out a little laugh as James sat up again, removing Thomas's arm from around him. Thomas felt a little pang as his arm fell back to his side, far from James's warmth.

"Father only let me come to see you because he's seen you play cricket and thinks you're "a good lad", he says." James sounded bitter. "I don't know if he'll let me out much though."

Thomas cocked his head to the side, thinking. Eventually, he too smiled.

"I can help with that. Do you want to play cricket with the boys and me? I'm the best in the village so no one will argue if I tell them you have to be on the team."

The idea of spending time with James out in public was a strange one, but Thomas thought it might ease his friend's troubles.

 _Besides, why shouldn't we be seen together? We have nothing to hide. We're just…friends._

"You really think so? I can play cricket with you?"

"Definitely. Maybe then your father will change his mind. He might think you're…"

"Normal."

Thomas let out a little smirk. "Right, normal."


	3. Chapter 3

James turned out to be appallingly bad at cricket. Thomas tried harder than ever as they played, doing his best to convince the other boys that James should play with them. Although Thomas got more runs than ever, the other boys only reluctantly accepted James. When the game ended, both Thomas and James were ignored, in favour of a small group of girls who had taken to loitering beside the field.

 _Now they're the ones talking to the girls. How times change_.

In the past, Thomas had enjoyed talking with the girls; however, over the last year, they had become infinitely more boring. It seemed that all they wanted to talk about was boys. As such, they didn't include Thomas in their conversations.

Regardless, Thomas would rather be with James. Thomas was so desperate to spend time with him that he walked the older boy home every afternoon. It seemed to produce whispers amongst the other children.

"Don't worry about them," Thomas muttered to his friend. "They're just jealous that we're such good friends is all."

James smiled unconvincingly, and kept walking, hardly looking up at anyone.

When they arrived at James's home, Mr Emery stood waiting, meaty hands on his hips, watching for his son to come home.

"Thank you for getting my boy to play with you, Thomas. I'm afraid his school doesn't actively encourage sports in young boys. It's preposterous. They'll turn those boys into a bunch of pansies if they keep it up." He eyed his son with disdain. James cowered below his father, but stepped forward, head down.

"No problem, sir. I think he's starting to get the hang of it."

The blatant lie caused James to smirk, the first time Thomas had seen any expression other than fear on the boy's face when they were in the company of Mr Emery.

"Bye Thomas," James shook the younger boy's hand. He squeezed it tightly.

"Bye James. See you tomorrow."

They did see each other the next day. And the next. Just like the summer before, Thomas and James were inseparable friends. Thomas felt like something had changed between them, although their interactions were no different.

 _I think I know, but I'm afraid..._

Thomas was having the time of his life. The fact that both of them would soon leave their little town and their tree was heartbreaking. Thomas tried not to think about it too much.

 _After the summer, who knows when we'll see each other again?_

Although James's father was pleased to see his son spending time with a lad like Thomas, Mr Barrow was unconvinced. He seemed to think that with Thomas leaving so soon to start his new job, the boy should be strengthening his connections with the other local boys.

"And," he added one evening over dinner, "you could spend time with your sister, and her friends. You know, talk to some pretty girls before you leave!"

Thomas furrowed his brow, looking pleadingly at his sister, who sat sullenly.

"That Phyllis is quite the looker for her age. If I do say so. And she's quiet, and smiles a lot. Good qualities in a girl. She'll grow up to be quite a popular one with the boys if she maintains her looks…"

"Father please!" Thomas's sister had looked about as disgusted as Thomas himself felt.

However, as usual, Thomas ignored his father, and continued to spend time with James. The last day of James's school holidays approached sooner than either of them wished, and Thomas was due to leave for his new job in less than a week.

The boys did not even bother to play cricket that day to appease their fathers, but went straight to the tree in the morning, with every intention of staying there all day. Thomas had made some sandwiches earlier, and had sneaked into the local bakery, spoken to the baker's son, and conned him out of a small cake.

"Thomas you shouldn't have – the last thing either of us need right now is to get into trouble." James whined fearfully.

"Relax. I know for a fact that this cake was one of three made for the baker's son. He's a fat boy, I guarantee he doesn't need it. Besides, he gave it to me. All I had to do was convince him it was worth his while." Thomas smirked, carefully laying the sandwiches and cake down on the tea towel he had stolen on his way out. He thought it best not to tell James about that.

 _It's not as if I won't return it. I always do._

They sat by the tree for hours, laughing and talking, racing each other to the stream and back, and enjoying a scrumptious chocolate cake. The day seemed to last forever. It was only when Thomas noticed that his watch said half-past four that he realised that it was coming to an end.

"You'll do brilliantly at your new job. Once you're old enough they'll promote you to a footman. I'm sure of it." James smiled at his friend, but Thomas thought he seemed deflated, dreading the prospect of going back to school.

"Thanks. And you'll be fine at school, just so long as you keep studying hard. Don't let the other boys push you around."

James patted his friend on the back. "You've definitely helped me there. I'll...I'll try to be stronger. Like you."

"And, you can write to me at my new job. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to."

"Yes, of course."

They sat in silence. Neither of them wanted to leave, and neither could not seem to find the right words to part with. Thomas found himself staring at James in an attempt to portray his thoughts.

 _I'll miss him. A lot._

James seemed to be avoiding Thomas's piercing stare, but after a while, he finally looked up.

Thomas stared into his friend's striking blue eyes, and felt warmth spread through him. He felt like he could stay like that forever. Just the two of them, side by side, staring at each other.

Perhaps one day, the two of them could be together again. James would probably end up as a teacher, like his father, but Thomas was confident that once he had some experience under his belt, he could find work anywhere.

 _I could find work wherever James works. We could live together, always…_

James was growing red, and it was only then that Thomas realised he'd been staring for perhaps too long. He looked away, face hot with embarrassment.

After a few seconds of Thomas staring at the ground, he heard James speak.

"Thomas, is there anything...anything you want to tell me?"

Thomas's heart was suddenly pounding so loud that he was sure James would be able to hear it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought buzzed, trying to force its way through.

 _I love him._

He suddenly felt sick, and terribly afraid. He gulped, and fiddled with the grass beside him.

 _No. This is wrong. It's illegal...a sin..._

He stared at the ground hard, willing the thought away. James breathed unevenly next to him, and Thomas was sure that his friend knew, and understood. Thomas seemed to be fighting his body as he slowly sat up straighter and turned his eyes back towards James.

 _Is this what I want?_

James was fiddling with the edge of his shirt nervously as Thomas finally met his eyes. He stared hard at the older boy, willing himself to lean forward.

 _It's not wrong. Just different_.

Thomas took a deep breath. He leaned forward, and planted his lips on James's. They were soft, and warm. Thomas pulled away almost instantly, blushing harder than he knew he could. His heart was racing, and James looked completely taken aback. Eyes wide with fear, the older boy glanced around, terrified that someone might have seen them.

Thomas felt a bizarre mixture of fear and relief. The thrill of being caught was almost as exciting as the feeling of pure joy that coursed through him. He felt like something in him had changed, like he had suddenly worked out who he was, and what he wanted.

It was a few seconds before James seemed to be past the shock as he went in to hug Thomas. The younger boy squeezed him hard, and they embraced for longer than Thomas thought possible.

"I...I knew it." James whispered, parting from Thomas.

Thomas nodded slowly. "I didn't. Or maybe I did. I'm not honestly sure."

They were silent. The sun, whilst far from setting, shined brightly on them. Thomas checked his watch again: it was nearly quarter-past five. James looked at the watch too.

"I suppose we have to go." James muttered, plainly upset. Thomas just nodded, struggling to find the words to say what he wanted to say.

"I'll miss you James." Thomas finally said. "A lot. Please don't...don't tell anyone." He added, rather unnecessarily.

James smiled uncertainly as he stood. "Of course. It's my secret as much as yours. I'll miss you too Thomas."

James held out a hand, and Thomas grasped it gratefully, and was pulled up by his friend. Thomas gathered the tea towel, shoved in his pocket, and went in for another embrace. James was taller than Thomas still, and being embraced by the older boy send chills up Thomas's spine. He felt warm, protected, and euphoric.

When they parted from their embrace, Thomas grasped James's hand, holding it tight until they entered the village. He almost didn't care if people saw. He felt free, and happier than he knew he ever could be.


	4. Chapter 4

Thomas stared wide eyed out of the window as the Yorkshire countryside whizzed past. He had never left his home county, and had no idea what to expect as he headed further south. He'd brought a book to read, and a sketchbook, but he felt like he could stare out of the window all day, watching the world go by, and never get bored.

 _I hope this wasn't a bad idea_.

Ordinarily, when Thomas took leave, he returned home to his father. It was always excruciating, but Thomas always felt obliged to go home, out of some kind of familial duty.

 _I'll see how long I can put off seeing him before he gets angry._

The butler of the house, Mr Martin, had reminded Thomas recently that he would be better off taking his leave while the family was in London. Mr Martin had been kind enough to offer him a few days off for his 16th birthday.

Thomas promptly wrote a letter to his father, saying that he was terribly busy and might not be able to visit for a while. An hour later, he sent his first ever telegram, to James, telling him that he would be there to visit the next day. On his return to the house, Thomas had packed a small trunk, and fallen into an excited, agitated sleep. In the morning, he rushed to the train station and booked his ticket.

He could not remember being more excited. The last time he'd been that happy was three years ago, during the most glorious summer Thomas had ever known – the summer when he'd finally realised that it was James he wanted, more than anyone else in the world.

The following summer was almost as good. Both boys happened to be home at the same time, although Thomas only had a week off. The problem was, farmer Smith had cut the old tree down, to use the back fields he'd never farmed. James and Thomas had spent as much time together as ever, but they had to meet in public. It hadn't been quite the same.

 _I hope we can see each other properly this time._

Thomas watched anxiously as the train pulled into his station. Within moments, he found himself exiting the carriage, and moving along the platform with a crowd of people. He held his small trunk close to his body as he swerved through the crowd towards the exit. He bought a map, caught a bus, and suddenly found himself staring at a school gate.

It was half-past 3 in the afternoon, and Thomas realised that he had no plan whatsoever of how to meet James. His decision had been spur-of-the-moment – he had not even waited for a reply.

 _Perhaps this was a stupid idea._

Thomas approached the gate cautiously. There was no one around, but he felt that barging into the school was not the best way to get James's attention. He loitered for nearly 10 minutes. He was about to leave when finally, footsteps rung out on the other side of the gate.

 _Oh Lord._

Thomas quickly straightened up, dusted off his jacket, and stood ready to speak with whoever came. He hadn't thought of what to say.

"Boy! Who are you? Why are you lurking out here?" a short, chubby man in a brown suit asked, puffing from the strain of walking down the long drive.

"My name is Thomas, sir. I was hoping to visit James Emery. I'm a friend of his, from Yorkshire."

"Humph!". The man replied, frowning. "Today is Friday. He's still in class."

 _I can do this_.

"I know that, sir. I thought he might finish soon though. His father asked me to come and see how he was. James hasn't been replying to many letters lately." The lie came easily to Thomas, and he paired it with his most charming smile.

The man tilted his head in consideration. "Hmm…yes…alright. If you'll follow me, please."

A sense of relief washed over Thomas – it had worked. The man unlocked the gate and ushered Thomas through, before promptly locking it again.

"Well don't dawdle boy!"

The two of them walked up the drive, Thomas with considerably more ease than the gentleman beside him. He was red in the face by the time they approached the main building, and Thomas held in a smirk – the man looked quite ridiculous with his dark red face and puffed out cheeks.

"If you'll come in here, and sit down." He wheezed. He pointed to a chair, and entered an office down the hall.

 _Perhaps I should have claimed to be a relative…_

Thomas sat anxiously, and pulled out his book. The wood-panelled corridor was silent, though he could hear muffled footsteps above. He tried to read his book, but only managed a few pages before another man stepped into the corridor.

He was a taller, thinner, sterner-looking man than the gentleman Thomas had met at the gate. He eyed Thomas with contempt, like a rat he wanted to shoo outside.

"Reading Pride and Prejudice I see? I thought only ladies read such books." He looked down on Thomas, who stood, tucking his book back into his shoulder-bag.

"It was a lady who gave it to me. I thought I'd read it to get on her good side, sir." Thomas was a little shorter than the gentleman before him, but he stood as straight as he could, and stared the teacher in the eyes, daring him to say Thomas might be lying. "Is my cousin coming?" he asked coolly.

 _This had better work_.

The gentleman looked taken aback.

"Cousin?"

"Yes. Well…second-cousin. Of James Emery. Did the other gentleman not mention me? He did look rather tired after the walk up from the gate."

"Perhaps it slipped his mind." The gentleman frowned at Thomas. "Cousin you say? And his father sent you?"

 _He believes me…_

"That's right. I know it's probably a big thing to ask, to let James spend some time with me over the weekend, but his father thought it would do him some good to see a familiar face. He hasn't been replying to our letters you see."

Thomas has become rather accustomed to lying, though his ingenuity was surprising him as he continued to spin the web of lies.

"I assume it's alright? Mr Emery forgot to send me with something signed, but it's rather late now to ask for one. Besides, he's taking some time off from work and I wouldn't know where to reach him."

The gentleman looked sceptical, and uncertain. He did not seem to know what to make of the seemingly confident young man who stood before him. Thomas could almost see the cogs ticking in the back of the man's mind.

Thomas stood as casually as he could, willing the man to believe him.

"Naturally it is a great inconvenience. He will have to be back here by 8 o'clock this evening, and by 6 o'clock tomorrow if you wish to see him then. However, our boys are not allowed to leave on Sundays." The man finally replied.

"Quite right. Thank you, sir. Will James be down soon then?" Thomas asked with a grin.

The gentleman turned on his heels at that, back down the corridor and up a set of stairs to the right.

 _I can't believe that worked. As long as he doesn't check with Mr Emery, no one will ever know_.

Thomas paced up and down the corridor, mindlessly running his hand along the walls.

 _He didn't even ask for my name. Pathetic_.

It was another ten minutes before finally, footsteps rang down the stairs, and Thomas quickly returned to his seat, trying his best to look nonchalant.

"Thomas?" James's voice sang through the corridor.

Thomas had to fight the grin that seemed to want to cover his face. He tried to reduce it to a small smile as he stood to greet his friend. The gentleman behind James was still frowning.

"Hello James. I hope you're well?" Thomas asked, extending a hand.

"Yes, thank you cousin. I've been very busy, that's all. I haven't had time to write."

"Of course. Well we'll have dinner tonight, and see each other tomorrow, and hopefully I'll have plenty to report back to your father next time I'm in Yorkshire."

James looked nervously at the lanky gentleman behind him. "Certainly. If that's okay with you, sir?"

"Yes, yes, off you go boy. Be sure to be back by eight – no exceptions. Understand?"

"Of…of course sir." James stuttered back. "Thank you, sir."

The teacher snorted, and returned to the office. Once the door had closed, Thomas pulled James into a tight embrace.

"I really, really missed you James. More than words can say." He pulled back, staring into James's eyes for confirmation of the same feelings.

James looked around nervously. "I missed you too. I…I think we should leave now. Before somebody gets suspicious." He whispered.

Thomas felt hurt, but nodded. The two of them walked out of the building, down the drive, and out of the gate. They were half way down the street when James finally spoke again.

"Cousin?" He asked.

"Thought it would be easier to get you out. I told them your father was abroad so hopefully they won't write. Besides, I know you have a cousin around my age. I doubt your father will ever find out it was me who visited." Thomas replied confidently.

"I hope you're right." James smiled.

"I can't honestly believe it worked. I'm better at lying than I thought I was.

They kept walking, closer together now they were out of sight of the school. James led them further away from the school and nearby village, towards a quiet cluster of trees. They meandered through the trees towards a small pond.

"This is where I go. When everything feels...bad. I don't know. I love it here." James whispered.

"Bad?"

"The others still bully me. Even after all this time. But I've never seen anyone else here. It's perfect for getting away from everything."

They sat below a tree next to the pond. Thomas had his arm around James – in the years they hadn't seen each other, Thomas had grown taller than the older boy. James had his head on Thomas's shoulder. The boys sat like that for hours, just talking, and enjoying each other's company.

"How long are you staying down here?" James asked.

"Just for the weekend. I don't exactly get a lot of leave. But the butler thought I should take some time off for my birthday. That's what he said at least – it's really because the family is in London so there isn't a lot for me to do." Thomas laughed. "I imagine he'll have thought of plenty more for me to do once I'm back."

"Sounds stressful."

"Not really. The butler is kind to me. At any rate, a footman is leaving soon so if I stay on his good side, I might even be due for a promotion."

"Congratulations!"

The boys talked until they felt rumbles in their stomachs. They reluctantly got up and returned to the village, heading to the local public house. They ate a hearty meal, paid for by Thomas, before James said goodbye and returned to the school.

Thomas took out a room, and lay on his bed smiling. He couldn't bring himself to read or draw – all he could do was think about James.

 _Perhaps it's nearly time to tell him I love him_.

He shuddered at the thought, but kept smiling all the same. He had not felt so happy for years it seemed. James was the only one who made him feel genuinely joyful.

After an hour of trying and failing to draw, Thomas finally fell asleep, excited and nervous about the next day. It might be the last time they saw each other for another two years.

Despite the tinge of sadness, Thomas fell asleep with the boy he loved on his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

Thomas had agreed to meet James at nine o'clock the next morning by the pond. For the first time in months, Thomas had slept in.

He bolted down the stairs, grabbed a quick breakfast, and sprinted towards the pond. Thomas had left rather later than he'd planned, but he ran with a smile etched into his face, confident that he would not be too late.

Thomas arrived only 15 minutes late, but there was no sign of James.

 _So I rushed for nothing?_

Thomas walked the circumference of the pond before returning to the tree they'd sat at the day before. He couldn't help but frown at the minutes ticked past. He lit a cigarette and kept watch.

 _I have to tell him today. I love him_.

10 minutes later, James had still not arrived. Thomas was starting to worry when he heard shouts echoing through the trees. He stood anxiously, and put out his cigarette.

Just as he started back towards the road, he was tackled hard in the side, fell onto the ground, and was pinned down by a large boy of about 17.

 _What the...?_

"Down you go pansy boy!" He laughed, sitting astride Thomas's chest and punching him.

Thomas grimaced in pain, and watched as a large group of boys surrounded him. They were all older than him, and rugby players by the looks of it. One of the boys was pushing James forward, while another threw a bag off to the side. All were laughing at the tears welling up in James's eyes.

Thomas struggled, but was held down by a second boy.

"Mr White said you're Emery's cousin, is that right then?" A tall, lean boy asked, crouching down and pushing the hair out of Thomas's eyes.

"Yes of course. Get off me will you?" Thomas replied, trying hard to push off the boys who pinned him down.

"Don't move an inch Keating." The leader told one of the boys, patting him on the back and turning towards James.

"I don't believe it. I've never seen two _cousins_ cuddling up to each other next to a pond. Not ever." He walked towards James, who was being held by two other boys. He punched James hard in the stomach.

James let out a whimper, and doubled over, gasping for air.

"Leave him alone!" Thomas shouted, squirming below the boy called Keating. "He's my cousin, and he wasn't feeling well. What's your problem anyway?" Thomas spat towards the leader.

The leader turned, eyebrow raised. He walked back over to Thomas, crouching down again.

"My name is Hamill, and you'll show me respect." He kicked dirt into Thomas's face, causing the younger boy to shut his eyes and cough.

"I'd show you a lot more respect if you didn't have eight against two." Thomas finally said, coughing and spitting some of the dirt out of his mouth. He blinked hard to stop his eyes from stinging. "Seems like cowardice to me."

Hamill seemed to be considering Thomas, while the only sound in the trees was James's whimpering.

 _If he'd only shut up, they wouldn't hurt him again._

"Cowardice. Sure. At least I'm a real man. Not like you and Emery over here."

"Please don't hurt him, he's just my friend. Please Hamill...don't..." James started. His pleading was interrupted by someone punching him again. The boys laughed.

"Get up Keating, Pinker." Hamill shouted as he pushed the boys off Thomas.

Thomas stood up as quickly as he could, and swung a punch towards Hamill. The older boy was caught off guard, and stumbled backwards. He bared his teeth, and signalled for his friends to stay back.

"You're dead sissy boy." Hamill started forward, and Thomas held his fists up, ready.

 _I can do this._

Hamill threw a slow punch towards Thomas, who ducked and kicked the older boy in the shin. Hamill stood up again quickly, and retaliated with another punch, which hit Thomas right in the nose. Thomas coughed, hands moving to his face instinctively to assess the damage. Hamill seized his chance and pushed hard.

Thomas fell backwards, tumbling past trees into the pond. He gasped as his head hit the cold water, which stung his still throbbing nose. He pushed himself up, struggling to stay afloat – he had only once been taught how to swim, a long time ago.

Up in the trees, James was shouting anxiously, while Hamill was charging down to the pond.

Thomas swam hard towards the edge of the pond, desperate to be on his feet before Hamill could get to him. He was just about to push himself out when Hamill leant forward, grabbed his hair, and shoved him back under the water.

He suddenly panicked, struggling desperately to get back up to the air. Thomas's hands clawed at Hamill's, but his lungs were already on fire.

Thomas was about to stop struggling when he was pulled back out.

"Hamill stop! We should take them to the police, not murder them!" One of the other boys shouted.

Thomas gasped for air, hands gripping the ground below.

 _I could have died_.

He stood shakily as Hamill argued with one of his creatures. James was on the ground, crying. His cheek was already bruising, and he had a cut on his hand that could only have been from a knife.

 _This isn't over_.

Thomas took slow, deliberate steps back towards Hamill. The older boy didn't notice Thomas until he collapsed from a kick behind the knee. Thomas pounced, kicking Hamill in the stomach so he doubled over.

Thomas quickly pulled Hamill up, holding an arm around his throat. Hamill was struggling, but was still winded, and couldn't fight Thomas, who was dragging him towards the pond. Thomas's muscles were screaming trying to restrain the older, taller boy, but he continued. The other boys stared wide eyed as their leader was dragged back.

Thomas turned around, so that Hamill could see the pond. The water was lapping at their feet.

"Touch James again, and I'll end you." Thomas breathed into his ear.

"Like you could." Hamill spat, struggling to push Thomas backwards.

"Oh I could. Fancy a swim Hamill?" He pushed the older boy forward. "I'll bet you can't swim."

Hamill was slowly recovering, and struggling more and more. Thomas knew it was only a matter of time before he broke free.

"Go now, or I'll push you. And, if you try anything like this again, I'll tell your head teacher that you tried to kill a boy today. Got it?" Thomas playfully pushed Hamill forward, and ran back towards James.

"Get lost, all of you! Now!" He shouted, waving his fists around.

The other boys glanced back at Hamill, who had fallen next to the pond, and was scurrying away, out from the trees. In seconds, they all ran off, back towards the school.

Only after they had gone did Thomas collapse next to James. His face was stinging, and his arms and stomach felt bruised from being pinned down. He was feeling slightly light-headed, but was managing to remain conscious.

"Are you okay?" Thomas croaked.

 _I should tell him_

"Yes. Better than you at any rate." James attempted half a laugh, choking back tears. "I'm so sorry. I should have helped but…I was so afraid…"

"You know if you didn't cry so much, they probably wouldn't come after you." Thomas turned his head towards James. "It's the reaction they're after."

"I know." James sniffled. "I know they attacked because they saw us together, but it was probably only a matter of time before they ganged up on me."

"Probably. They attacked because we're…different." Thomas replied bitterly.

Now that the shock of being attacked had passed, Thomas felt a rage flowing through him. They had been attacked because they were not like everyone else. His own father had boasted of attacking a man of "that sort" before.

 _Beating up people like James and me are sport for some_.

"It's lucky you were here. You're a better fighter than me. I'm not sure what would have happened if you hadn't been here." James took Thomas's hand, which was clenched. At the older boy's touch, Thomas relaxed a little, and let James hold his hand.

James reached is other arm around Thomas, who was grimacing from pain and anger. They sat like that for longer than Thomas knew. The rage also passed, and with James's warmth next to him, Thomas was sure he dropped out of consciousness a few times. He felt better than he ought to, given the state he was in. When he checked his watch, he realised they'd been sitting for hours.

"I have to go soon." Thomas whispered sadly. "I have to clean myself up before I get back on the train."

"We should probably leave soon anyway. Someone will come back eventually."

"You're right."

James helped Thomas stand up. He felt less wobbly than he had when he'd sat down earlier, though he felt like it was probably being with James that made him feel better.

"Some birthday this has been." Thomas laughed, shuffling down to the pond to wash his face and hands.

"Oh Lord, I completely forgot!" James suddenly ran back into the trees, where a bag he'd clearly brought had been thrown carelessly to the side.

Thomas tried to hide the surge of excitement he felt as he knelt beside the pond. He splashed water on his face, but the cold of it sent chills down his spine – he would not soon forget nearly drowning.

 _Maybe I should say it now._

Thomas's heart started to thud faster in his chest as James came back. He held a small, rectangular parcel, neatly wrapped. There was a dent on one corner, but it otherwise looked unharmed.

"Happy Birthday Thomas"

Thomas smiled, and tried to unwrap it neatly. After a few seconds of fiddling with the string, he gave up and ripped the wrapping and string off in one quick movement.

Inside was a book, beautifully bound. It was a book of poetry, by a writer Thomas did not recognise.

"I thought some of the poems sounded…well…like they might relate to you and me."

 _People like us_.

"I hope you'll like it." James added, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

 _Now would be a perfect time to say it…_

Thomas looked around, then gave James a quick kiss.

"I'm sure I will. I…" he paused. "Thank you."

"We should leave. You have a train to catch." James smiled back.

The two of them walked slowly back out of the trees. Thomas's heart was racing as they walked.

 _I should. I'll regret it otherwise._

Just as the road came in sight, Thomas put a hand on James's shoulder. His hand was shaking, though he hoped James would assume it was because of the beating he'd just experienced.

"I have to…before I go…that is…" he gulped.

"What is it?" James asked, eyes wide.

Thomas pulled the other boy into a tight hug. He was sure James could feel his heart pounding. Thomas put his lips to James's ear, fighting the wave of nausea that crashed through him.

"I love you." Thomas whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

"You know Mr Barrow, I'm not sure you're suitable for the job after all." The butler stared at Thomas over the top of his reading glasses, in between occasional glances at his resume. "Your qualifications are good, I grant you, but we need a first footman, and a house of this standard requires someone a little more experienced."

Thomas did his best to remain upbeat and smiling, though he wasn't quite sure he pulled it off.

"I've only been a footman for a few years it's true, but I am a first footman, and an excellent worker. Mr Martin, the butler where I work, will tell you…"

"I think you should go now, Mr Barrow." The butler stood. "Good day to you."

Thomas kept up an unconvincing smile as he exited the room, the servants' area, and the house. It was a long walk back to his home, but he couldn't quite face the others just yet – he'd barely been at the interview for more than 10 minutes, and they were sure to have questions if he was home so soon. Above him, the sky was grey, and threatening rain. With a sigh, Thomas continued to walk slowly back, relishing the cool breeze and the quiet afternoon.

Mr Martin had been rather disappointed when Thomas had asked for the afternoon off. He seemed to think that at 20, or very nearly, Thomas should be happy as first footman in a fairly well-respected house. And in truth Thomas was pleased that he'd moved up to where he was – few men of his age could boast of being a first footman. Somehow, Thomas still felt that one day, he could work for someone far more important than a Baron, and certainly in a higher position than a footman.

 _If only someone else would bloody hire me_.

When the estate came into view, Thomas slowed his approach. He knew he'd have to explain to the other footman, George, that he didn't get the job. The thought filled him with dread, but as rain finally began to bead his hair and clothes, he sighed and continued on, walking a little faster to avoid catching a chill.

He grimaced as he finally opened the door of the bedroom. "Back so soon?" George asked instantly, barely looking up from his magazine.

"Yes. What's it to you?" Thomas replied sulkily.

"Just wondering. I'd like to be first footman is all. The sooner you leave, the sooner I will be." George grinned up at Thomas.

The other footman sat on his bed, flipping through a magazine and smirking. Thomas sat down on his own bed heavily.

"Well you won't be rid of me so easily. I mean to move up in the world, to a better house than this stinking place."

"I'd be sad to see you go if I'm honest. Even if I get promoted." George yawned. "What's the time then? Is dinner soon?"

"Probably. We'd better get downstairs or Mr Martin will have our hides."

George was a good lad, Thomas reflected on their way down to the kitchen. He only a year younger than Thomas, and the two got on well. Thomas had always struggled to make friends as a boy, yet over the last few years, he'd learned how to befriend other boys his age. It surprised him still that George didn't mind his company.

 _Perhaps it's the confidence of knowing myself. Or having James in my life_.

Thomas had only seen James once since the events at the school. Ever since, James had been more guarded in his affection, and he seemed less happy. The older boy had finished school, and was at Oxford, reading history. Thomas smiled at the thought of him, but wished more than ever that they could see each other soon.

 _He'd know how I could find a better job._

The truth was, with James off to a better life, Thomas felt stuck. Being first footman in the household of a Baron was a good job for a lad of his age, but the Baron was struggling with the changing times, and Thomas was not confident that he was in the house he wanted to be in for the rest of his life.

"Get that soup upstairs!" Mr Martin yelled, waking Thomas from his thoughts.

"Yes, Mr Martin!"

Thomas ran about and did his duties, as he always did. He was a good worker, and he was tired when he finally went to bed. As he did most evenings, he tried to get some drawing in before he went to sleep, but George wanted the light off after only a few minutes. Sighing, Thomas tucked his notebook away and turned off the light.

"Who is he? The man you draw?" George asked.

It was almost pitch black, but the darkness felt comforting to Thomas.

"A good friend of mine. My best friend probably. We've known each other since we were boys. He's…very important to me." Thomas smiled in the dark despite himself.

"Right. You draw him a lot."

"So?"

"I don't know. Seems odd. Anyway. Goodnight Thomas."

"Goodnight George."

Every day had the same routine, and Thomas was up early the next morning getting ready for the upstairs breakfast. He dressed and made his way downstairs, doing his best to remain optimistic, despite not getting that job he'd wanted. George didn't seem convinced, but joked with Thomas on the way down regardless.

"Thomas, George, I wanted a word before you went up." Mr Martin announced to the footmen as they reached the kitchen. The boys looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Certainly Mr Martin" Thomas replied. "What is it?"

They stood in the busy kitchen, and the rest of the staff buzzed around them, engrossed in their cooking, or grabbing a quick snack before they went to dress the Baron and his family.

"This afternoon I thought we might go through how you would dress his Lordship, or even Mr Richard, should the need arise."

"That would be excellent Mr Martin, thank you." Thomas smiled gleefully. "It would be good experience, wouldn't it George."

"Certainly. Thank you Mr Martin."

"Well off you go upstairs then."

The lads grabbed their trays and began the long journey of stairs up to the breakfast room.

"This is perfect. I suppose he wants someone to dress Mr Richard now he's back from school. Or maybe Mr Sykes is leaving and they need a new valet!" Thomas chattered excitedly as they trudged up the stairs.

"Aren't we both a little young to be valets?" George replied, unconvinced.

"Probably, but what does it matter? His Lordship's hardly ever here, and he never brings Mr Sykes on his escapades. Plus, Mr Richard need dressing, and we're older than him. Master William is too young, but it's not like he won't need a valet some day too."

"True. Rather you than me though – I can't stand them, especially Master William."

"He's a good lad, I don't see your problem with him."

"I hate children."

"I think they're good fun. I remember when I first came here, Master William was only 2 years old. Now look at him, racing around the house and climbing all over things." Thomas smiled at the thought.

"You're an odd one you are." George laughed as they laid the food on the table. "If I thought I could marry a girl and not have children, I would, let me tell you. But, children are the price we pay to have our way with women hey?" He chortled, turning around and heading back for the stairs.

Thomas shifted uncomfortably, but followed.

 _If I could marry and have children, I would, let me tell you_.

Mr Martin kept his promise, and went through with the lads how best to dress a gentleman. Thomas listened attentively, while George seemed distracted. Mr Martin didn't seem to notice however, as after a few trials each, both Thomas and George could dress the Baron with ease. Thomas thought George did a sloppy job, but accepted that Mr Martin knew best about such things.

George had been acting strangely the whole time. He seemed to question everything Thomas said or did as soon as they were out of earshot of Mr Martin. Sometimes the questions were harmless, merely asking if there was a better way to brush down a jacket or fold a shirt. Other times, George probed into Thomas's past, seemingly trying to get a better understanding of Thomas and his family and friends. It unnerved Thomas somewhat, but he tried to remain calm, and consciously excluded as much about James as he could without completely failing to mention him.

Whenever George asked about James, his brow furrowed, as if deep in thought.

Just a week after their training had begun, Thomas was reading a long-awaited letter from James when George burst into their room, face flushed from his run upstairs.

"Mr Sykes has handed in his notice! He's going to go work in a shop! Can you believe it?" George exclaimed, beaming. "Mr Martin looks astonished, and I can't say I blame him. He probably thought old Sykes had got a butler position somewhere. A shop!"

"Has Mr Martin said anything specific to you? About a replacement?" Thomas probed carefully, trying to contain his excitement.

"No. All he's said is that you and I will alternate dressing the Baron until 'something is done', he said."

"But I'm first footman! Obviously I should dress him…"

"That's not what Mr Martin said," George replied, frowning. He walked over to Thomas, leaned over his shoulder for a few moments, then turned back to his bed and sat down with a heavy thud, face twisted in thought.

 _Seems a struggle for him_

Thomas slowly turned back to reading his letter.

 _Thomas,_

 _I apologise profusely for not having written in so long. I've been terribly busy, although I know that is a pitiful excuse. Even with everything that is going on, your letters are still the only thing that keeps me going some days. I cannot wait to be near you again, alas I may be in Oxford all summer._

"Thomas?" George interrupted.

Looking up from the letter, Thomas sighed. "What is it?"

"I don't think you ought to be promoted. I think that job should be mine." George seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

"Oh? And why's that." Thomas's face flushed, and he frowned, staring down his colleague.

George simply shrugged, saying nothing for a few seconds. When Thomas opened his mouth to speak again, George finally spoke up. "I suppose Mr Martin will have the final say. I'm sure he will know which of us to choose."

"I'm sure he'll consider carefully. Or he might not promote either of us."

"True. You just don't seem the right man for the job. Sometimes you don't seem like much of a man at all."

Thomas felt suddenly angry. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. You just seem a bit of a pansy sometimes for a job like a valet. It's a man's work."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat.

"Coming from someone who combs his hair so carefully, and reads magazines all the time."

George shrugged again.

 _He's just trying to make me nervous. He thinks he's noticed something. But I have nothing to hide._

By the time Thomas had finished reading James's letter, George was fast asleep. Thomas puzzled over a long reply to James, but finally, after what seemed like an age, he was satisfied. With a sigh, he leant back against his bed frame and contemplated having a smoke. Looking over at George, he realised that would probably be impolite, so left his letter on the bed, then stepped out of the room for a cigarette.

Leaning against the wall in the men's corridor, Thomas let the smoke ease his body and mind.

 _It's my job. And when I've got it, I'll be one step closer to being James's equal._


	7. Chapter 7

Days of Thomas and George alternately dressing the Baron turned to weeks. Thomas could not help but feel aggravated, and found himself snapping at the other servants, including the pretty housemaids who always hoped for his attention. He was not deliberately impolite, but he was struggling to contain his anger. Why had a decision not been made?

He hadn't brought himself to ask Mr Martin yet. Many trained valets had already come and gone in numerous interviews, but Mr Martin continually muttered about wanting someone who knew the Baron. Thomas knew he was probably being paranoid, but he had spotted Mr Martin and George in deep conversation recently, which unsettled him.

Four weeks after Mr Sykes' resignation, Thomas received a letter from James. Upon receiving it at the servant's table, Thomas's usual sour look turned to a smile. He bolted upstairs to read away from prying eyes.

 _My Dear Thomas,_

 _Since my last letter, not much has changed here, and yet I feel a changed man. No event of significance has brought about this change, save the continuing absence of your presence. As the term draws to a close, I find myself wondering why I am here. Ever since I have been here I have buried myself in books and learning, finding pleasure in it as I never have before._

 _Yet I feel emptier than ever. I have been given opportunities that few have had, which bring with it the illusion of choice and freedom. I feel that I should be grateful, and yet I find myself wishing I had a simpler life. Is reading history actually what I want? After this, should I enter an academic career path like my father, or is there something else for me? Do I really have a choice in all of this?_

 _Such trivial questions they seem at times, yet I cannot shake them. In many ways, I feel trapped. The only constant I feel is you, yet I feel you slipping away as time erodes our relationship. That is the last thing on earth I would wish, and I pray that somehow we may see each other again soon._

 _Without your presence, I fear that I will sink further into this (although I do not really know what this is). Whether this be a sickness or a passing melancholy, I beseech you to write again soon, or better yet, call on me at your earliest convenience._

 _Kind regards my dear friend,_

 _James_

Thomas began the letter perched on his bed, but slowly he sunk back into it. This was not the first time that James had experienced such melancholy. The formality of the letter hit Thomas like a blow to the gut, and he started to wonder if his friend was feeling even worse than the letter suggested.

 _I wish there was a way I could go to him._

He cursed as he checked the time. Thomas was due to dress the Baron this morning – there was no way he could reply to the letter yet. He stood, attempting to even his breathing and put James's letter out of his mind. With a deep breath, he tucked James's letter into a book by his bedside, straightened his livery, and stepped out of his room in the direction of his morning duties.

Throughout the day, the letter played heavily on Thomas's mind. Whenever he had a spare moment he found himself fidgeting and staring absentmindedly off into the distance. He barely even had the energy to continue his anger at Mr Martin.

By late afternoon, Thomas was sitting at the table, playing with his spoon as the kitchen maids brought out the servant's dinner. Almost all of the servants were already seated, save George and Mr Martin, who were on their way down the corridor. George was beaming, although Thomas barely took any notice.

"Your attention please everyone," called Mr Martin as the servants stood for his arrival. "I have an announcement."

Thomas finally looked up from his spoon with a frown.

 _What the…?_

George exchanged a proud look with Mr Martin. "You're all to call me Mr Williams now!" he laughed, and the servants at the table smiled back at him, sounding their congratulations.

 _No...it can't be…_

Thomas placed his spoon delicately back onto the table. "Sorry George, Mr Martin…I'm not sure I fully understand," Thomas interrupted the congratulations quizzically.

"George, that is Mr Williams, is our new valet," Mr Martin huffed.

The buzz around the table picked up again as Thomas stared dumbly at the man he thought was his friend. George shared his stare, but merely smirked at Thomas's confusion.

Thomas stood up abruptly and headed towards the servant stairs, towards his room. He blinked back tears as he stomped his way up every single step, slammed the door behind him, and crashed onto his bed.

 _I can't believe this. How could this happen?_

After all the bad luck he'd had with the never-ending job interviews, Thomas had had a sliver of hope when Mr Sykes announcement had come. Yet it all seemed for naught – somehow, George, his junior in age and experience, had been promoted to a position rarely filled by one so young.

 _Even I would have been too young. But George?_

Thomas grabbed the book by his bedside and threw it hard against the wall, hoping for a cathartic release of anger. Unsurprisingly, the exertion did nothing to calm him. Anger burned red hot inside him as he wiped the tears that had begun to fall down his face.

He curled up on the bed for what seemed like an eternity, but the time on his watch suggested he'd only been lying there for a few minutes when he finally got up to retrieve his book. Absently, he reached for the letter he'd left in there, hoping that reading James's words would comfort him.

Flipping through the pages, Thomas realised the letter was not where he'd left it. He opened every page to see if it was stuck inside, but it was not. Franticly, he searched the floor below where he'd thrown it – near the wall, under George's bed, near the basin…

 _Where is it._

Thomas ran his hands through his hair nervously as anger and fear bubbled inside him.

 _It must be here somewhere, it has to be._

He did not even notice when George came practically skipping into the room. By this point, Thomas had pulled back the sheets on his bed and was checking under the mattress hysterically.

"Woah Thomas what's gotten into you?" George's eyebrows had shot up. "You're not trashing our room as payback for my success are you?"

Thomas stopped abruptly.

"I'm looking for something. I don't give a damn about your bloody promotion," Thomas swore at his former friend, dropping the mattress back onto the bed frame with a thud.

"You're looking for this, aren't you?" Out of his pocket, George drew a letter carefully. "It was an interesting read to say the least."

Thomas stood still for a few seconds, then lunged towards the other man hurriedly. George stepped back, watching as Thomas nearly fell.

"I must admit I'd never read such a heartfelt letter. He's the man you draw, isn't he?" George started backing out into the corridor. "I showed Mr Martin. And told him about the drawing, and the other letters. He seemed convinced that there was something amiss. I'll admit I put the idea in his head, but you know what older gentleman are like. Mr Martin needed little convincing that you were not fit to serve the Baron, or his sons. Who knows what ideas you might put in their heads."

"You conniving…"

"You should go speak with Mr Martin yourself. I'm off to prepare for dinner. It's only the Baron tonight. I'm looking forward to his congratulations." George took one more look at Thomas, who stared pitifully in the doorway, and tore the letter from James cleanly in two.

Thomas stared, again lost for words. As George walked back to the stairs, Thomas ran forward and picked up the two halves of the letter, folded them together neatly, and put them in his pocket.

Cursing, Thomas marched downstairs into Mr Martin's office. The man in question was decanting the wine before dinner, and appeared to be almost ready to head upstairs.

"Why did you promote George?" Thomas spat, slamming the door of the office behind him. "He's my junior, his skills are inferior, and I've heard you say you don't even like him that much!"

Mr Martin lowered the now empty bottle of wine and placed it on the table.

"I would like to have this conversation with you Thomas, but now is not the time. We must all be ready soon. Dinner…" 

"I don't give a damn about dinner. I want to know why I was not promoted."

Mr Martin glanced at the clock in the corner nervously, then sighed. "George came to me soon after Mr Sykes's resignation in an attempt to convince me that he should be promoted. I did not think this wise, as he, and you for that matter, are rather young to be considered for the post. I told George that I would be interviewing more suitable candidates in the coming weeks, which I did, but none seemed right for the post," Mr Martin began wringing his hands as he spoke.

"Last week, while you were polishing the silver, George came again, asking if I would accompany him to your room. While there, he showed me letters of yours, to and from a young man named James. He also showed me your sketchbook of drawings." Mr Martin hesitated before continuing. "George seemed to imply that there was something beyond friendship between you and this other young man. I told him the idea was preposterous. Then this morning, George brought me the letter you received. Well I was not pleased, but upon reading it I couldn't help but wonder…"

"And that's your excuse? You let a footman raid his colleague's personal items, so he could accuse me of…what exactly?"

"You seem awfully…familiar with that young man…"

"Familiar? What are you accusing me of?"

"That you…that is to say…that you are the type of man who…"

"Spit it out," Thomas finally whispered, fists clenched.

"That you are a man who engages in…relations…with other men." Mr Martin looked disgusted at himself for even speaking of such things. "If this is indeed the case, which your current behaviour seems to be confirming, I will have to ask you to hand in your resignation at once. I cannot have you perverting the minds of any others in this house."

Thomas stared dumbfounded. He had always known that if his secret was revealed, his job, and his very existence would be on the line. That George had outed him, with merely a few ambiguous letters and a drawing terrified him almost as much as the prospect of losing his job.

"I have never engaged in any such relations. George is a liar."

"Then why so defensive Thomas?"

Thomas opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it. Before him, Mr Martin was now standing, staring inquisitively at Thomas. His eyes were wide, as if he was seeing Thomas for the first time. His brow furrowed.

 _I can't believe this is happening…_

"Your behaviour tonight has shown me that you are indeed unfit to serve in this household."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat.

"You can't be serious. Mr Martin please…"

"I see no need to prolong this. A man like you cannot be tolerated in this household. I will tell the Baron that your father is ill, and that you are returning home to be with him, tonight. That will excuse your absence from dinner. In a few days I will say you've resigned. I will even write you a good reference – I would not want word getting out that we employed a man like you."

"Mr Martin please…you have no proof…"

"I suggest you pack your things immediately. I will write your reference after dinner, by which time you will be ready to leave this house. You will not get the rest of your salary for the month. Is that understood?"

"Sir, this is ridiculous!"

Mr Martin was already walking towards the door, holding it open for Thomas to leave. Thomas could barely move a muscle. The last few minutes, which had passed so quickly, had spelt his ruin.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak again, but for once, had nothing to say. He stood still, limbs heavy with shock. Mr Martin had to clear his throat before Thomas could bring himself to slowly exit the room.

The other servants, who were bustling about getting dinner ready, mostly ignored Thomas as he once again ascended the stairs. A few gave him quizzical looks when he did not make his way towards the dining room, but Thomas stared straight ahead. Each step he took was heavy with disbelief. Never had he presumed that anyone could have guessed the extent of his feelings for James. After all, they were not declared in letters, and Thomas was never so careless as to even mention James to anyone.

 _Except George. But how could he have known?_

Absent-mindedly, he changed out of his livery into normal clothes, and packed his things. His clothes, as well as the few items he owned barely fit into the small trunk he had brought here all those years ago, a mere boy of 14. Still, he shoved items in haphazardly, blinking through the tears.

 _How can I be fired for something beyond my control? I never chose to be this way._

Thomas lugged the trunk down the stairs, and stood outside Mr Martin's office. Cigarette smoke fogged around him by the time Mr Martin and the rest of the servants were back downstairs after dinner. The smoke barely effected him – he felt numb. Mr Martin barely raised an eyebrow before stepping into his office and slamming the door.

"Thomas? Why are you loitering in the corridor?" Mrs Pince, the housekeeper asked, pausing on her way in to Mr Martin's office. Her brow was furrowed, and her thin frame hunched over.

"I…my father. He's um…he's ill." Thomas stuttered out, struggling to remember the excuse Mr Martin had given him. "I'm waiting for Mr Martin's permission to leave and…" he paused.

The numbness he'd felt for the last few hours started to fade, and anger flared up in him again.

Smiling bitterly at Mrs Pince, he started to speak again. "I'm waiting on the rest of my pay for the month. I'd struggle to return home otherwise, but he's taking an awfully long time in there." Thomas suddenly sighed dramatically. "I am worried about my father, and hope to be off soon."

Mrs Pince's face softened. "I'll see what I can do for you my boy. I hope your father recovers soon."

"Of course, thank you Mrs Pince."

Thomas felt remarkably pleased with himself given the circumstances. Mrs Pince stepped into the office, and closed the door gently behind her with a smile. Thomas repeated his story for the next few minutes, taking delight in the sympathetic attention. The younger maids smiled repeatedly and cursed Mr Martin for making Thomas wait.

Suddenly, Mr Martin burst out of the office, face flushed, and shoved an envelope into Thomas's hands.

"I'm sure you'll find the rest of your salary sufficient for your journey," Mr Martin huffed. "Good evening to you." Mr Martin turned back into his office again and slammed the door behind him.

 _It worked._

"Sorry ladies, I must be off. If you see George, tell him good luck in his valet position," Thomas smirked.

He set off with his trunk without a word, barely acknowledging the small group of servants waving goodbye behind him.

 _Good riddance._

He trudged out of the house and grounds, lugging the trunk with all of his strength, and finally approaching the ticket platform at the train station with a spark in his eye.

"Ticket to Oxford please. One way."


	8. Chapter 8

Thomas was exhausted when the train finally shuddered to a halt in Oxford. The day before seemed like an eternity ago, although mere hours had passed. 24 hours before, he had a job, acquaintances, and had been hoping for a promotion. That he had been fired instantly for something out of his control terrified him. There was a tension in his head and chest that he couldn't seem to shake.

Coming to Oxford had been a spur of the moment decision. The whole train ride, Thomas had fretted over how long he could stay without a job, and whether James would even be pleased to see him. His letter certainly suggested so, but what if James was with other friends?

After standing for a while, unsure, Thomas exited the station. A few hours, a meal, and several wrong turns later, Thomas walked among tall, sandstone buildings. He couldn't help but feel out of place as other young men, about his age, overtook him as they strolled confidently through the streets. They looked smart, confident, and had an air of aristocratic sophistication about them.

 _Maybe one of these men will hire me._

In contrast, Thomas stood, trunk in hand, in trousers that were too short and a jacket that was too tight. He hadn't replaced all of his clothes since starting his job all those years ago. He earned quizzical looks from those who passed him. The tension in his chest only increased at their stares, but he tried to ignore them. He was here to find James.

Thomas found himself staring up at a beautiful round building, bathed in weak sunlight. He stood in awe. The columns, the windows, the green grass in front of it…everything about it sent chills down Thomas's spine. Scared but determined, he decided to step inside, and at least ask someone if they knew James.

Walking hesitantly towards the door, Thomas was suddenly knocked back onto his feet. Face full of grass, he looked up to see an older gentleman, in a tweed suit, cursing, and gathering fallen papers from the damp grass.

"What are you doing with a trunk that large young man, loitering in doorways! I should write to your faculty," the gentleman muttered as he tried to organise his papers.

"Sorry sir. I'm just…I'm looking for someone." Thomas stood, brushing grass and dirt off his trousers.

"I fail to see how that is an excuse. Does your friend also stand in doorways, or is it just yourself?"

"I don't know where he is! I came all this way, but I…forget it. I thought I'd try this building. Seems nice. Central." Thomas muttered irritably.

The gentleman sighed, extending his right hand. "Apologies. I tend to rush about, not that I _need_ to be anywhere now per se. It's a habit." He shook Thomas's hand slowly. "My name is Professor Schuster. What brings you here, boy?"

"I'm looking for someone. We were friends…at school. He told me he's resident at Christ Church, but I've only just arrived and have no idea where that might be." Thomas felt some of the tension in his chest ease, though his head throbbed painfully.

"I didn't think you looked like a student. As it happens, I'm walking that way myself." He pulled out a pocket watch and stared at it, thinking. "Come on."

Abruptly, the professor started off away from the building. It took Thomas a split second to realise that he ought to follow. The professor muttered to half to Thomas, half to himself as they walked. He hardly noticed Thomas struggling to keep pace with the heavy trunk.

"Tell me my boy, who are you looking for?" The professor continued, shuffling through his papers absentmindedly as he marched down another street.

"James Emery," Thomas puffed out. "We've been friends since boys. His letters have been less frequent of late." Thomas searched for the words carefully. "He seems to be having a tough time."

As the professor rounded another corner, he turned to look at Thomas. "By Jove, you wouldn't believe it, but dear James is my assistant! What a coincidence. Funny how these things are." He smiled, clearly amazed.

Thomas's heart skipped a beat.

"So, you can take me straight to him then?"

"I don't see why not. I'm afraid I have been working him hard this summer. I forget sometimes he's only 21, he seems wise beyond his years, and he's a fast worker. He does seem a little down at present. I admit I hadn't noticed, though now you mention it…" the professor muttered to himself as he turned through a gate, and into a building.

Again forgetting Thomas's heavy trunk, he wandered through stone corridors, and led Thomas up a narrow flight of stairs, down another corridor, then finally stopped in front of a wooden doorway. He knocked twice, calling out to James.

Thomas's heart started racing again. He put down the trunk and smoothed his clothes. It seemed like an age since he had last seen James, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought that he was just behind the door. The professor knocked hard on the door again, and James opened up.

The change in him since last they'd met was significant. James's hair seemed longer than usual, which covered a small amount of stubble coming down his cheeks. The same light brown stubble covered his upper lip, and a little on his chin. His bright blue eyes were lined with red.

James opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The professor stared at a dark spot on the floor.

"Hello." Thomas finally filled the silence.

"T-Thomas. How are you… _why_ are you…" James's eyes were wide.

"Well boys I'll leave you to it. James, I'll speak with you tomorrow about that paper, yes?"

The professor walked off, humming, not realising that James had not replied.

Thomas stood awkwardly in the doorway as James looked up and down the corridor, scratching his arm.

"I…come in Thomas."

Thomas stepped in with his trunk, and James closed the door behind them. Out of the empty corridor, Thomas finally had the courage to step closer to James.

"I am so glad to see you James. It's been so long…I've missed you terribly." He leaned in to kiss James, who took a step back hesitantly.

"James? What's wrong?" Thomas asked, confused. The tightness in his chest that had been loosening suddenly returned.

"I just…there might be people around. I don't want…I'm sorry." James retreated further into his room, sitting down at a chair by the desk.

"I'm sorry for barging in on you like this. I just don't really have anywhere to go and…I missed you. And your last letter seemed a bit odd and…I've wanted to see you for so long I felt I would burst." Thomas rambled, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

James stood slowly, and turned to look at his closed window. He walked towards Thomas and hesitantly put his right hand out to shake.

"No I'm sorry Thomas. I've been…I don't know." James stared behind Thomas, who turned to see nothing but the closed door.

"It's okay." Thomas pulled James into a tight hut. The other boy returned it hesitantly. "I was hoping we could go to a public house or something. I need a room for the night, and I want us to speak James. Really talk."

James pulled away, urgency in his eyes. "I don't know Thomas, there will be people there, they might see us, and…"

James held a finger to the other boy's lips. "What's the worry?" he asked. "I thought you said you have friends here."

"Nothing. I have a few friends. Most are gone for the holiday but…I don't know Thomas. I just…I don't know." James turned back to his desk, which Thomas noticed was surprisingly clear of papers.

"Then…what else can we do?" Thomas probed carefully.

James sighed heavily.

"You shouldn't even be here you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Thomas growled softly.

"Nothing. I…fine," James started breathing steadily again. "I know one not far from here."

"It's summer, remember? There won't be many people around."

James stood a little straighter. "You're right."

The two of them set off, Thomas still lugging his trunk. They exited the building and walked back towards the beautiful round building Thomas had stood in front of earlier. They passed several pubs, each of which James ignored. Half a mile later, they walked into a shabby looking place, filled with smoke. They ordered food and drinks, Thomas booked a room, then the two young men sat in the back corner.

James fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket, clearly distracted, while Thomas downed his first ale. After a sip of the second, Thomas put his drink down.

"It's been so long James. I can't believe I'm here now."

James looked carefully around the room. "What brings you here anyway?" James finally asked, picking up his ale.

Thomas explained everything, from the George's behaviour to his recent firing. He finished his second ale as he spoke, while James sipped his first quietly. When he finished, James had still barely spoken.

"So…so they know." James whispered.

"Know?"

"About…about you. And me." His eyes widened.

"I suppose." Thomas sighed, taking the third ale he'd ordered from the barman. "It should have been the end of my career, but Mr Martin was good enough to give me a reference at least. Still…I have no job. Nowhere to go." Thomas sighed.

James had been mostly quiet while Thomas spoke. He still did not say a word.

"How have things been with you? Your letters…"

This time it was James who sighed. "I've been…unwell. I suppose. There's nothing really."

"Have you…learnt anything interesting here?"

"Not really."

"If you don't have many friends…what about the professor?"

"He's kind."

Thomas sat back, slightly frustrated. His friend barely ate the food he'd ordered, and barely spoke. Compared with the last time they'd been together, James was bizarrely quiet. They finished their food in silence. By this time, James looks exhausted. His head looked heavy in his left hand.

"Do you…want to talk somewhere quieter?" Thomas asked softly.

James looked up quickly, surprising Thomas. He glanced around them, as if fearful someone had heard. After a second, he relaxed. He took one last sip of his nearly empty ale glass.

"Okay."

Thomas nearly bolted up, but refrained. James had been so silent and wide eyed, Thomas was genuinely surprised that he'd agreed.

They walked slowly up the stairs. James still turned every few seconds to glance around them. Despite his exhausted appearance, he seemed completely on edge.

Thomas closed the door softly behind him, offering James one of the two small beds to sit on. It had been the only room available on such short notice.

Tentatively, Thomas sat beside James. The two young men were silent for what felt like an age.

"Your last letter. James…you seemed…sad. I don't know. You told me to come if I could, and I'm here, but you seem so…"

James suddenly pressed his lips firmly on Thomas's. Thomas kissed back greedily, but James was already pulling away.

"I'm so sorry Thomas," he whispered, tears suddenly welling up in his eyes. "I've been so dreadfully afraid. And tired. A student was recently expelled, they found another man in his room and I just…I don't know. I've needed you. But I don't want to be expelled. Not that it matters…"

James rambled, only vaguely coherently for the next half hour. He finally explained to Thomas about the student "like them" who was expelled, his fears of discovery, general melancholy, as well as his doubts about his studies. It was not dissimilar to what he wrote in his letter, but as James spoke, tears streamed down his face.

Despite being the younger, Thomas had always found himself comforting James. The latter had never been as confident in himself. James was sobbing hysterical, but he seemed to calm down slightly as he spoke.

They were silent for a while after James had finished talking. James had his face buried in Thomas's chest, while Thomas had his arms around the other man, trying to comfort him. Finally, James sat up again.

"I think…we should stop…whatever this is," James sobbed. "Everything would be easier if we were only friends. There'd be less risk of being discovered." The volume of his voice lowered with each word. "It will never be accepted. We'll have to endure bullies who hurt us; physically, like at my old school, by the lake, or even like that footman you mentioned." He was whispering now. "Our relationship is sinful – we shouldn't be like this at all."

Thomas shook his head. He felt like he'd been stabbed in the stomach. "That's ridiculous."

"It's not what I want but…we shouldn't even be this way!"

"James…" Thomas chose his words carefully. "How we are… _who_ we are…we didn't choose this. I don't know about you, but I've always been attracted to men. As a boy I was practically in love with Mr Kaye, our teacher if you remember. I didn't choose to love you either, it just happened. I _love_ you. I've never loved a woman. How can something be a sin if we did not choose it?" Thomas was hardly sure if he was convincing James or himself.

Either way, the tears in James's eyes had stopped falling.

"You truly believe that?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And you really love me? Despite everything?"

"Always."

James blushed, and stared down at his shoes.

"I've really missed you. I have no one to talk to here. I have friends…in a manner of speaking. But no one like you." James scratched his arm awkwardly. "I've been so lost. With all of this, and my father – his letters never ask me how I am, only that I should study harder. I don't even know if I want to be a historian," he sighed. "Sorry. I'm repeating myself."

"It's okay." Thomas resumed his hold on James.

"Like I said. What's the point in being here? People of my class study to get a job, so they can provide for a wife and children some day. But I'll never even have that. I'm…I'm in love with a man. _You_. And we can never truly be together. I'll just die alone."

Tears fell down James's face again, but Thomas wiped them away. Almost everything James said resonated with him. Luckily for him, most people in service died alone anyway. A part of him had always hoped he could work near James though, and that they could spend time together until they were old.

James clung to Thomas as if he never wanted to let go. He sighed contentedly, and no new tears fell.

Thomas definitely did not want to let go. They sat like that for another half-hour, until James's eyes started to droop. Still clinging to his love, Thomas gently lowered James onto the bed. The latter seemed fast asleep, so Thomas carefully attempted to get up. He was tired, and the other bed looked almost, though not quite, as comforting as the one James was in.

Thomas stretched once he'd stood up. Before he could walk towards the other bed however, James grabbed his hand tightly. Thomas turned to see James almost smiling.

"No. Please stay."

James inched towards the wall, allowing Thomas to lie down next to him more comfortably. James kissed Thomas softly, and the two wrapped their arms around each other. After a while, James's breathing slowed, and Thomas started to feel the exhaustion of the last few days, making his eyes heavy.

They fell asleep peacefully in each other's arms.


	9. Chapter 9

Thomas opened his eyes groggily. The room was mostly dark, but pale light shone through the curtains over the window. He sat up, pushing back the twisted sheets. Slowly, he got up and dressed.

It was getting brighter, and Thomas eventually plucked up the courage to pull back the curtains. With the increased light, Thomas remembered the night before – James, unloading his thoughts, and the two of them locked in each other's arms. With the light, he also noticed a note, in James's hand, held down by his own cigarette case.

 _Thank you for listening. This changes everything. I've never been so happy. I'll see you later – find your way back to my room._

James had started the evening restless and depressed, but after they'd conversed for all those hours, he'd seemed almost happy. The positive change in his friend, and the note, lightened Thomas's step, and he went downstairs suppressing a huge grin.

The public house was bright and busy, so much so that Thomas struggled to find a seat. It was a stark contrast to the night before. Thomas called a passing waitress over to order a coffee.

"What, not eating?" the waitress asked, hands on her hips.

"Money's tight. I'm starving but you know how it is." Thomas chuckled, trying to ignore the growling in his stomach.

"You're…not a student?" She looked young, and uncertain.

"Unfortunately, no. I'd give a lot to be like these rich toffs though," he smirked. "I'm in service actually. Just between jobs."

"They don't know how good they've got it." She paused. "Why are you between jobs?"

"If I told you, you might blush," he replied, leaning towards the waitress as he spoke. She did in fact blush.

"I'll get that coffee" she finally said, glancing over towards the bar, where her boss evidently stood.

"Thank you."

Thomas leaned back in his chair, watching the waitress skittering away, trying to hide her pink cheeks. It felt good to feign confidence again. He always felt most at ease when lying or smooth talking.

The waitress came back swiftly, with a cup of coffee and a plate of toast with marmalade.

"Snuck this out of the kitchen," she whispered in Thomas's ear, placing the items in front of him. "I hope you become a rich toff one day."

"Same to you." Thomas beamed.

He hadn't expected to eat anything, and he wolfed down the toast ravenously. It still wasn't enough to completely fill his stomach, but he left the pub feeling even happier than before.

Thomas struggled to recall the way between the pub and James's college. By the time he arrived, he was warm, but filled with energy. He couldn't wait to see his beloved James again.

If he was frugal, Thomas calculated he could stay for a little over a week.

He arrived in front of James's door and knocked. There was no response, but turning the handle, Thomas found the door unlocked anyway. He closed it behind him and strolled into the room, desperate to see his friend.

With the exception of the neatly made bed, clear desk and a closed trunk, the room was empty. James was nowhere to be seen. Thomas stood confused for a few seconds, glancing about the room and trying to spot some clue of James's whereabouts.

In the back corner, sticking out from under James's bed, was a piece of paper. Approaching, Thomas realised it was a letter to James, from his father. Thomas sat heavily on the bed, uncomfortably holding the letter, but conscious that it was the only clue he had.

 _Dear James,_

 _I am disappointed to be writing this, but I fear it is the only option. I was appalled at your last note. A research position with Professor Schuster is an achievement, I grant you, but your results last term left something to be desired._

 _I cannot help but wonder whether Oxford was the best choice for you after all. Naturally for someone of our social class to attend such a prestigious institution is a triumph, but I have my doubts. At least at that secondary school I could guarantee you were under appropriate supervision, and were being raised to be a man. I cannot be sure this is the case at Oxford._

 _I have recently heard from my good friend, Adam Goodson (who teaches at Dragon School) that there was a scandal at Christ Church. No doubt you have heard. A young man was expelled for illicit behaviour. Naturally I am concerned – such behaviour so near cannot be good for you. I do not forget that you were a soft boy once._

 _I fear that such behaviour is common at Oxford, and urgently demand your return home. I will hear no debate on the matter. If I do not see you back home by Saturday next, I will fetch you myself. You must not doubt, I will be extremely disappointed if I must do this._

 _History, whilst a noble, academic profession, is not suited to you. Your results are evidence of this. In a few weeks, you will join the army. God willing, you may find yourself rising to a far higher rank than an academic career could ever bestow, especially as it may enable you to marry a gentleman's daughter._

 _Tangential, I know, but I am eager for such a desirable turn of events. I look forward to seeing you progress far in that profession._

 _Your father,_

 _John Emery_

Thomas read over the letter several times, trying to let it sink in. The idea that James would be better suited for the army than an academic profession was laughable, and Thomas could not quite believe that Mr Emery even suggested it. On deeper thought, Thomas realised what this letter meant for James.

Although not fitting in terribly well, Oxford was undoubtedly a better place for James than any other. He could keep his head down, study hard, and get a job. The students here were almost certainly less rough than those at James's secondary school. Yet James's constant anxiety must have resulted in poor grades.

Thomas finally got up from the bed. He searched the room one more time, even opening James's trunk and discovering it packed neatly. Save this, Thomas found no other trace of life.

A nagging sense of urgency began to press on Thomas's chest. Not knowing where James was, when he had promised to meet, was unnerving. With a glance back, Thomas exited the room, and hesitantly set off down the corridor. A few doors down, opposite the staircase, Thomas knocked on another door.

"I have better things to do than answer a knock on a Saturday!" Professor Schuster exclaimed with a frown a few seconds later, opening the door.

"Sorry sir. My name is Thomas – we met yesterday. I'm James's friend."

"Ah yes. Have you seen James today? He was supposed to bring me a paper this morning and I'm quite distracted without it."

"I was looking for him myself," Thomas replied, trying to cover his disappointment. "I had hoped to find him here. But never mind, I'm sure he's around somewhere."

"Yes, yes, shame about the paper. Tell him to bring it to me if you find him, boy."

"Of course, sir, good morning."

The professor slammed the door in Thomas's face. Checking his watch, Thomas sighed and left the building. He was starting to feel nauseous, although whether that was hunger or James's absence, Thomas could not be sure.

Undoubtedly, the letter from his father had bothered James. The packed trunk implied that James planned to run away – an idea that suited Thomas just fine. Even James's erratic behaviour before their conversation lent itself to that idea nicely.

 _We could go wherever we pleased. Just the two of us, together at last._

The image brought half a smile to Thomas's lips. Hope and nausea swirled through him in perfect dissonance.

Thomas found himself wandering the town of Oxford absentmindedly. He wanted desperately to look for James, but had no clue of the other man's whereabouts. Walking seemed to be the only thing he could do. Thomas passed dozens of sandstone buildings, before finding a stream.

He walked along it gladly. The green grass and trees were a relief from the sandstone behind him. He passed hardly anyone, and despite missing James, Thomas felt slightly more at ease. Certainly, the nausea in his stomach began to fade. Who could feel anxious with the sound of a trickling stream?

Before long, the stream fed into the river. It was certainly busier here. People hurried along frowning, and some of the women he passed looked distressed.

Slowly, as he walked, he approached a crowd by the bank. Both men and women stood in an arc, as close to the river on each side as they dared, but were kept back in the middle by two police officers.

Thomas absentmindedly pushed himself through the crowd. Something inexplicable drew him forward. The nausea he felt before crashed through him in earnest.

Behind the two police officers was another, crouching in the grass by the river examining something unseen on the ground. The crowd around Thomas were all trying to get a glimpse of the river bank, but there seemed to be nothing there.

"Sir, what's going on?" shouted a young man near Thomas. He too was trying to glimpse the ground on the other side of the third officer.

"Nothing to see here folks, if you could all please step away now," the older of the two standing officers shouted back, sending glares that seemed to be keeping the crowd at bay.

Thomas stood completely still, palms sweating. He could hear and feel people behind him, but he could only stare at the officer on the grass. The nausea continued to eat away at him – something was wrong. Finally, after several minutes, Thomas looked up.

"Excuse me, sir." Thomas whispered to the older officer. The latter did not hear him, merely continued to use his bulky presence as a barrier. "Sir? Please." Thomas tried again, but his voice was barely a croak. He was shaking.

The officer on the ground finally stood, and tapped the elder on the shoulder, signalling him to start moving. The crowd suddenly surged forward to look at the ground.

"I can't see anything!"

"Is that blood there?"

"You stepped on something!"

Thomas stood still while the crowd moved, but managed to catch the eye of the older officer. Something urged Thomas forward, and he fell into step with the officers.

"Sir, please, could you tell me what's going on?" Thomas croaked out.

"Not today, boy. Move along now."

"No." Thomas found himself blocking the officer's path.

While Thomas was not a small man, he was significantly shorter than the officer in front of him. He gulped, but stood his ground.

"My friend's gone missing. I can't find him anywhere. I just…I want to know what's going on…" Thomas blinked angrily, fighting off tears of uncertainty.

The officer stared back at Thomas, expression barely changing.

"Could you describe your friend?"

"He's a little shorter than me, aged 21, uh…light brown hair, blue eyes, a mole on his right hand…"

"That will do for now. Might be nothing but…you'd better come with us."

The officer led Thomas away from the crowd by the river bank, towards a carriage. The two of them rode inside the carriage in silence. Thomas's nausea was getting the better of him, and he struggled to maintain composure the whole trip. Something was very wrong.

The drive, and Thomas being led inside the police station was a blur. Thomas could not focus on anything, and instead of his usual swagger, Thomas stumbled forward awkwardly. He was led into a small room with nothing but three chairs and a desk.

Thomas sat in one chair, while another officer, the crouching one from the river bank, sat opposite him. In the corner of the room sat the older officer he'd been speaking to, this time with a pen and paper, ready to take notes.

"I'm Detective Inspector Wishart. Your name, boy?" the officer in front of him spoke, finally waking Thomas from his trance.

"Thomas, sir. Thomas Barrow."

"Very good. Could you describe your friend for me? You already spoke to Officer Roberts, but it would be helpful for me to hear it directly from you."

Thomas tried to think of as many descriptors as he could, trembling all the while. Wishart frowned.

"Thank you for that Mr Barrow. I know this is distressing." He exchanged a look with Roberts in the corner, who nodded. "Early this morning, a young man was found dead in the river. Our detective on the case has reported that the man has a bullet hole in his temple, although no weapon has been found. He clearly floated upstream for a while, then washed up on the bank. Our officers removed the body as soon as it was reported, though as you saw, the crowd is still lingering." Wishart hesitated again.

"We believe that…well…that this is a suicide case. We do not take this lightly – accusing a dead man of a crime is a long, tedious task. We may inform our superiors that it was murder, although it is hard to be sure."

"We don't tell you this to distress you boy," Roberts interrupted. "We just…want you to be prepared. This is going to be unpleasant. We uh…we need you to identify the body. It might not even be your friend."

Thomas was barely taking everything in, but he nodded.

"Do you understand?"

Thomas nodded again, unable to speak. His jaw was clenched so tightly he could barely open it, and the nausea still threatened to overcome him.

 _It cannot be him._

Thomas was again led away. All the corridors blurred together, potentially because of the tears that Thomas had to blink back.

Soon, he was standing in what was obviously a morgue, by the smell of it. In the centre of the room, on a table, lay a body, covered with a sheet.

Roberts, with a hand on Thomas's shoulder, edged him forward. Thomas found himself standing beside the body, fists clenched so tightly he was sure he would feel pain under normal circumstances. Wishart held the sheet.

"Are you ready boy?" Roberts asked kindly.

 _No._

Thomas's ears rang as he leaned closer. His fists were clenched, his jaw was stiff, and he felt sweaty all over. It was impossible, surely, what the officers suggested.

 _James is fine, he's just…somewhere…_

The officers waited a few more seconds.

Finally, with a nod from Roberts, Wishart pulled back the sheet.

Thomas turned away, finally crying, and retching.


	10. Chapter 10

Somehow, in the days that followed, the world kept turning. The people Thomas saw passing by continued their lives as if nothing in the world was different. From the cold, hard bench by the river where he sat, day after day, Thomas felt as if his whole world had caved in. And there was no light, no James, to help him escape it.

An hour after Thomas had identified the body, a telegram was sent to Mr Emery. Thomas had begged the police, sobbing, not to tell Mr Emery the truth about James's death – he could not bear to have Mr Emery asking questions. The police had probably planned to report James's death as murder anyway, but Thomas was thankful that was what Mr Emery was told.

Another 16 hours later, Mr Emery arrived, looking exhausted and shabby – the complete opposite of how Thomas remembered him. For the first time, it seemed Mr Emery truly recognised the worth of his son.

Thomas watched Mr Emery enter the police station from a distance. Thomas had left as soon as he had signed an official statement, but he could not help but linger between it and the river.

He did not feel angry at Mr Emery as he watched the man enter and leave throughout the day. Undoubtedly it was his final letter that drove James over the edge, but what was the point in getting angry? Mr Emery had his punishment in the loss of his only child. Thomas knew full well that the letter was not all that had weighed on James – being homosexual, studying something he was only half interested in and working towards a life he could not have would be mentally exhausting.

 _In my life, few have been kind to me. But James was. We were the same. But he was the very best._

Whether there was something that Thomas could have done to help James, he would never know. Certainly, the warning signs had been there. But he had been too caught up in his own trivial problems to notice.

Could saying something different, or doing something different, have truly saved him? Thomas now had a hunch that when he arrived, James had been planning this anyway. Maybe their conversation had changed James's mind, at least temporarily – his note was evidence of that.

He'd been depressed, that much was certain.

 _I should have seen. I should have read the signs._

Holding in tears, Thomas returned to his position by the river, where James had taken his final breaths. He had barely eaten or slept since he saw the body. Only kind Officer Roberts thought to give him some food in those first hours. He could barely stomach the hard bread, but at least the tea had been warm.

Only 4 days after James's death, the body was ready for Mr Emery to take north. It was still dark as the officers carefully prepared the coffin for transport. Thomas watched briefly, but soon returned to the river. He picked a tree not far from where James's body had been found, and pulled out his pocket knife. In the dark, he carved "TB & JE" into the tree. He nearly cut his finger trying, but he was satisfied with what he could see in the weak moonlight.

 _I will never love anyone like I loved him._

Thomas did not accompany Mr Emery, but caught the same train north. Thomas had barely spent a penny for days, but he knew there was no point lingering in Oxford. He might as well attend James's funeral – there ought to be someone there who knew the real James, who knew the truth about what had happened.

Following that, he ought to try and find a job. He had nowhere to go after all.

The funeral was a small affair. Thomas stood unnoticed at the back. The priest droned on and on, but Thomas was not listening. All he did was stare at the coffin, mind buzzing. He slipped away before anyone in his old village spotted him. He certainly did not want to run into his father, who did not even know he had been fired.

The days that followed were a blur. Thomas meandered through various villages and towns inquiring about work. He had hoped to find a job as a valet – it couldn't hurt to try, but he struggled to get interviews for even the footman jobs. Besides, he only applied where he could work for someone rich and powerful.

It was raining when Thomas found himself in Thirsk. He hurried into a public house immediately out of habit. He removed his damp coat inside the warm, cosy pub, although he barely noticed the feeling in his fingers returning. Around him, people laughed, and enjoyed a small band of musicians in the corner.

"Can I help, sir?" the owner of the pub approached Thomas with a grin.

"Not unless you can find me a job in some great house," mumbled Thomas.

"Seems unlikely. How about a room for the night?"

"That'll do. And maybe some supper."

"Coming right up, sir."

Thomas was led to a table in the opposite corner from the musicians. It was far from the fire, but he hardly cared if he was warm or cold.

It seemed an age since James had died, but it had not even been a fortnight. Thomas numbly accepted some hot soup and a pint of ale from the waitress, and proceeded to drown his feelings in as much alcohol as he could afford, which was little enough.

Thomas missed James more than anything. He would trade everything, and then some, for the chance to see his friend – no, his lover – again. Yet even with the love of his life gone, his job prospects almost nothing, and only a few pounds to his name, Thomas could not imagine taking the steps James had taken. Many of James's worries were similar to Thomas's own, and yet...

Thomas had never felt as low as he did now, and yet suicide seemed so…final. As he stared moodily into his empty ale glass, and ignored the silent chatter around him, he still found himself hoping for the things he'd once wanted: a good job in a high profile house, friends, and above all, James to be by his side always.

James had been everything. _Everything_ to Thomas. Without James, he felt completely and utterly lost, and empty. It seemed ridiculous to hope for anything, when most of those dreams were now impossible. What was the point?

Thomas could not afford travelling through towns any longer. Thirsk was his last chance, no question. He desperately needed a job. If he could not find anything in the next two days, he was doomed. He would either return to his father, tail between his legs, or starve to death. The latter seemed easier.

Thomas ordered one more ale, and brought himself to examine the room. It was a shabby pub, and mercifully cheap. At a nearby table, a group of gruff, middle-aged men sat, talking and drinking amongst themselves.

"I thought they weren't taking on any more gardeners?"

"I heard they're hiring extra so the grounds'll be perfect when the family gets back from London."

"I've never understood why they leave the Abbey for London."

"So those girls can find rich husbands stupid."

"That's right. It's not just gardeners neither, I heard they're taking on new footmen and all."

Thomas had already drained his last ale, but despite the buzz of the alcohol, he perked up. He felt a little too shaky to ask about whatever "the Abbey" was without admitting to eavesdropping. He didn't fancy the risk – he knew what these gruff country types were like.

Instead, he called over the waitress and asked if for the job column from the paper. She came back promptly, after which Thomas thanked her, and wobbled up to his room.

Words blurred together on the page. Alcohol had been affecting him more than usual lately, probably due to exhaustion and grief – not that he consciously grieved much anymore, he was too numb. Finally, after staring at the list for far longer than he should have needed, he found an advertisement.

 _Last chance._

Thomas made his way to Downton village early the next morning. The crisp morning air helped his throbbing head, and he almost smiled. The little village was green and bright, full of people bustling about, waving to each other across the centre of town. Off to one side, a group of boys played cricket.

Thomas perused the advertisement again.

 _Footman wanted at Downton Abbey, to serve his Lordship the Earl of Grantham. Applicants are advised to send references to Mr Carson, his Lordship's butler._

Seated on a bench near the centre of the village, Thomas considered his options. He was tempted to go straight to this Mr Carson directly, and put forward his candidacy; however, if there was anything he knew about butlers, it was that they always wanted things done "properly". Thomas folded up his reference, and carefully wrote a note to the butler. Slowly, he got up, leaving his trunk, and strolled semi-confidently towards the group of boys playing cricket.

The boys were deep in concentration, focused on the game. Thomas watched for a while, but found he couldn't bear to interrupt. Off to the side, a small boy sat perched on the white fence that surrounded the small park, swinging his legs and looking longingly at the other boys. Thomas approached, flicking a penny in his hands.

"Hello!" Thomas called as he approached the boy on the fence.

The boy stood and turned to leave, but noticed the penny in Thomas's hands, and watched it rise and fall eagerly. "Yes?" he finally asked, tearing his eyes from the penny.

"I was wondering if you could deliver something for me, to Downton Abbey?"

"Downton Abbey! The big house you mean?"

"Yes. I need you to deliver this letter to the butler, Mr Carson."

The boy snatched at the penny, but Thomas pulled it away quickly. "You can have one penny now, and another if you come back with an answer about an interview. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes." The boy held his hand out eagerly for the penny and the letter. Thomas gave him both, and the boy ran off instantly.

Thomas sat on a nearby bench and watched the cricket game until they finished, tapping his foot absentmindedly. The boys left the field soon after. Thomas continued to sit, mind buzzing as he stared into space. He was bubbling with anxiety when the boy returned.

The boy held out his hand expectedly.

"Well? Is there a message for me?" Thomas asked, jolted suddenly into consciousness.

The boy signalled to his open palm again. Reluctantly, Thomas handed over another penny. The boy stared at it in wonder until Thomas's angry grumbles roused him.

"The butler says you're to go for the interview."

"When?"

"4 o'clock today, he said."

The boy ran off without another word. He ran in the opposite direction of the main group, and was soon joined by one other boy. They hugged, and ran off together to the edge of the village.

 _Be careful. You'll only be disappointed when something inevitably tears you two apart._

Thomas sighed, and checking his watch, realised he did not have a lot of time. He went straight for the inn, and tried his best to clean himself up. It had been a few days since his last interview, and Thomas was not looking particularly employable.

Absentmindedly, he began to shave the small stubble growth around his mouth. He combed his hair, washed his face, and racked through his trunk for his best-fitting clothes. It seemed strange to hope for something, but Thomas desperately wanted – and needed – this job.

 _At least working for an Earl would be a step up, even if it is only a footman position._

Staring at his reflection, Thomas decided it was the best he could manage. After practising his fake smile one last time, Thomas began the journey to Downton Abbey.

It was not so far, and Thomas found the walk refreshing. He smoked his last cigarette as he walked up the drive, and awkwardly searched for the servant's entrance.

"Can I help you?" asked a kindly, stern-looking Scottish woman.

"Yes, please. I'm here to see Mr Carson about the footman position."

"He'll be pleased you're a tad early. I'm Mrs Hughes, the housekeeper. I'll show you in."

Together, Thomas and Mrs Hughes entered the house. They passed a scary-looking lady's maid smoking on their way in, and Mrs Hughes led the quivering Thomas into the servant's hall.

"Cheer up, lad. Mr Carson is not that scary."

"I just really need this job, that's all," Thomas stared at his shoes. "My uncle passed away recently, and it's a lot less money feeding my father and sister. It's been hard without him." The lies came easily to Thomas, despite everything. "Sorry. I shouldn't bother you with my problems."

"Don't worry about it, lad. Prove to Mr Carson you're a hard worker, and he'll probably take you on. The men he's interviewed lately left a lot to be desired."

"Thank you." Thomas smiled, as Mrs Hughes asked the hall boy to fetch Mr Carson.

With James gone, Thomas knew things could never be the same again. _He'd_ never be the same again. The numbness had started to fade, and in its place, Thomas felt a strange mix of anger and hope. Angry, that the world had forced James to take an irreversible step, taking him from Thomas forever. And yet, Thomas felt a bitter hope, that without James, he had a better chance at good career at least.

In the end, Thomas would never know if anything he could have done would have changed anything. James made his choice. The only thing Thomas could do now was truly grieve, and move on.

If nothing else, he'd learned his lesson. Do not attach yourself to anyone.

"Thomas Barrow? Mr Carson's ready to see you now," the hall boy gestured for Thomas to follow him.

Straightening his jacket, Thomas approached with his head held high.


End file.
